


South Station to Burton-Conner (In the Rain)

by squireofgeekdom



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Meetings, Fluffy Ending, Gen, MIT Era, POV James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Ridiculous amounts of laughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7013656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squireofgeekdom/pseuds/squireofgeekdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Rhodes is at the end of a long and shitty day, and Tony Stark isn't as successful at navigating the Boston T as he would have thought. </p><p>Somewhere on their way back to MIT, they end up friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	South Station to Burton-Conner (In the Rain)

**Author's Note:**

> You know that feeling when you're so tired everything is funny? This fic is about that feeling.

James Rhodes has been pulled aside while trying to get to his gate at the airport for a ‘security screening’ - who’d ever heard of _that_ (clearly, the anonymous asswipe who had called security on him for looking ‘suspicious’ when he checked in and the two - _white_ \- security officers who had patted him down, had) - had almost missed getting on to his first flight thanks to that, spent an hour sitting on the tarmac after he had caught his breath before they could take off, had missed his connecting flight because of that delay, had spent half an hour arguing with the attendant at the booth (yes, his first flight had _landed_ before his connecting flight took off, but they hadn’t made it to the gate - much less gotten off the plane, out of the gate, and to the other, connecting gate - in another terminal - by the time his connecting flight had pulled out, and for the love of God, the least they could do was put him on the next flight to Boston) almost missed his new, finally agreed upon connecting flight because the argument had, well, escalated, made his new flight to be crammed into a middle seat, conveniently near the bathrooms, and screamed at by a small, overtired infant who sounded about how Rhodes felt (and damn if that didn’t make him feel better about having chosen the Air Force - you couldn’t have a screaming infant on an A-10). 

In short, James Rhodes gets into Boston after Winter Break during his sophomore year at MIT a full three hours later than he had planned, after, frankly, a shit-ass day. 

It’s raining, and a Silver Line bus has just pulled away from the curb as James stumbles out of the airport. The twenty-one minutes, thirty-seven seconds (give or take, he started looking at his watch as soon as he saw the bus pull away and looked desperately for the sign showing the time till the next bus) that it takes for the next bus to come shouldn’t feel like much in the timescale of the flights he’s just taken, but God, in the cold and the rain - even if it isn’t hitting him, it still drapes around like an impenetrable reminder of gloom, the puddles taunting him - and the fact that he is so close to the warmth of his dorm, after the hundreds of miles covered today, just feels like a profound universal insult. He almost wonders whether it would be faster to just walk to the next stop, but the pounding of the rain stops him. 

Finally, a Silver Line bus pulls to the curb, and he darts through the rain to clamber inside and grab on to a free pole. He can feel nervous energy draining out of him as the Silver Line bus hits stop after stop, as he slumps further and further, wrapping his arm around the pole and squishing his duffel up between him and the metal. People hustle in and out, bags knocking against him, and he barely notices until the largest stream heads out at South Station. He follows out - managing to accidentally drop his duffel on the wet curb. When he recovers it, the stream of people is gone.

It is in this state of mind that James Rhodes manages to get himself down to the Red Line platform heading towards Ashmount - not Alewife, which was what he _needed_ to get to MIT, where his warm dorm awaited, where his soft and wonderful bed would welcome and envelop him, where he would never have to see a single drop of rain again -

(He may be, ever so slightly, romanticizing his dorm)

He’s just realized his mistake - cursing himself - he’s a _sophomore_ , he’s _done this before_ \- the Silver Line Bus, the Boston subway system, every single employee of the Airline That Shall Not Be Named - and has just turned around to head back up the stairs when he spots a kid wearing an oversized MIT hoodie and a baseball cap, studying at the train map like it’s written in ancient Sumerian, and also looking like he might be about to cry.

Okay, well, ‘spots’ might not be the right word. ‘Nearly faceplants tripping over the edge of the enormous pile of luggage this kid has’ would be more accurate. 

After James stops swearing, the kid is still apologizing. 

“What’s a kid need all this stuff for anyway?” James asks, trying to finally cut the kid off from his stream of words that are barely registering in James’ brain.

“It’s just - stuff.”

“You’re heading back to MIT, right?” James wonders whether the kid is carrying engineering supplies, equipment for a seriously extensive dorm hall decorating project, or maybe taking a really creative approach to trying to win the scavenger contest.

“What? Me - who told you I -” The kid tugs his baseball cap down even further. 

“Dude, you’re wearing an MIT sweatshirt.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah. That. Yeah.” The kid’s clearly at the same stage in his day as James is, where he’s a little tired-drunk - or maybe actually drunk, but James doesn’t think so (Hopes not) because he starts giggling, and James soon follows, to the point where James is quickly leaning against the bottom of the staircase railing and the kid is resting his forehead against the map on the wall. 

“Yeah. I’m going to MIT. Back to MIT. If I can - can ever figure - this out.” The kid says, banging a fist against the map. 

“‘S not that bad. You’re in the right place, you’re just heading the wrong way.”

“Yeah?”

James points at the map. “This way will get you back outta town, towards Ashmont. We want to be headed in to campus, towards Alewife. See, you want Kendall station, but it’s not on here.” As the kid looks even more panicked, James adds, “We just gotta cross over to the other side. Of the tracks. Nobody’s dying.”

The kid looks where James is pointing. “That involves stairs. So maybe dying.”

They both look around at the mountains of stuff the kid has with him, and burst out laughing again.

“Wait,” The kid says, hiccuping. “Wait wait wait wait wait - ‘we’. You said we. You’re - you’re going to MIT too?”

“Yeah,” James says, grateful that the tone is edging towards hopeful, rather than the more skeptical tone he’s used to.

“Then what are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you,” The kid waves his hands,” be on the other side, going in the right direction? This isn’t some kind of hazing thing, send the St - send the kid off in the wrong direction, is it? Because -”

“Yeah, I came to the wrong station in the rain and tripped over your dumbass pile of luggage to haze you, kid.” That gets a sudden, startled, laugh. “Look, I’ve had a really, really, really long day, and I got turned around, but do you want to come home with me or not?”

“Well, when you put it like _that._ ” The kid waggles his eyebrows. 

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “You wanna carry all this crap back up the stairs yourself or what?”

“I can get it myself!” The kid says, grabbing at two of the bags frantically. “You don’t - I can -”

“Alright!” James says, holding his hands up and turning for the stairs. He waits for the kid to call him back for help until he gets halfway up the stairs. When he looks back, he sees the kid has made it up all of two stairs, and is teetering dangerously. 

He can almost feel his pillow. He is so close to getting back to his dorm. 

He turns back around, jogs down the stairs, and grabs one of the suitcases from where it was about to fall on the kid.

“Alright?” 

“Yeah,” The kid mutters, and James carries the suitcase up the stairs - and down the stairs, back into the actual station for the train heading towards Alewife - and thus, the stop closest to MIT, at Kendall. He sets the suitcase down and leans against the wall, leaning into his duffelbag, and points out the stop on the map on the wall. “So now we got the right stop, Kendall, which is right by MIT - unless you’re in Random, then you get off at Central. Are you -”

“Kendall’s fine.” The kid mutters, rummaging through his pocket.. “Look, yeah, thanks and all, with the directions and the bag and - yeah. Thanks.” He says dryly, and hands him a fifty.

“Are you kidding?”

“What, did you want a hundred? Look, you can hang around me and leech the money off that way, but this is just quicker, and since you were being helpful -”

“I wasn’t - helping you for money, who _does_ that - and who gives out _fifties_ -”

“Then what do you want? Might as well figure it out before we get back, so -”

“I want to get back to my damn dorm. Look, I didn’t have to help you, I just felt like I shouldn’t leave some dumb frosh with too much shit to get lost on the damn T, alright?” It’s 5 minutes till the next train, and people on the platform are starting to stare. 

“You - you really have no idea who I am.”

“No?” Realizing he hadn’t introduced himself, James sticks out a hand. “James Rhodes.”

The kid bursts out laughing, clutches his side, then finally recovers to extend his hand. “Tony Stark.”

A million ‘Stark Industries’ logos flash before James Rhodes eyes. 

“Sorry. I must have - god. I was hoping you didn’t - but I thought -” The kid - Tony - shakes his head.

The first dumb thing that pops out of James’ mouth is: “Shouldn’t you have a choeffer to lug all this crap around, then?”

Tony looks at him, blinks, then laughs sheepishly. “Yeah. Something like that.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Imayhavegotinafightwithmydadandgottenhereundertheradartomesswithhim.”

“Ah.” James says. After a minute, he adds. “You must have had something of a first semester, huh?”

“Something. Yeah, you could say that.”

James groans as he sees the metro pull up, window after window going by, packed with people. After sitting, crammed into an airplane, for most of the day, it should feel good to stand, but all he wants to do is collapse, and they’re basically guaranteed not to get a seat now.

“Let’s go.” James sighs, and hauls one of Tony’s suitcases with him across the gap into the train.

People are definitely glaring at them as they wedge Tony’s bags into the sardine-can of an underground car - including, James notes, the people who already have seats, sitting pretty as he rolls Tony’s suitcase into the space left in the aisle between those seats. 

He grabs onto the pole just as the train lurches into motion, nearly toppling over just as Tony and his last suitcase fall almost on top of him. James manages to grab Tony and haul them both upright before they - or any of the stuff - can knock any of the other riders over (As it is, the last suitcase knocks a businessman in the knee, and James gets more personal with the passenger standing next to him than he would have liked).

Once the train is moving along smoothly, they’ve sorted themselves out, crammed between suitcases and people. James finally lets go of Tony’s arm once the kid figures out that he should actually hang on to the metal pole. (Of course, he’s probably never _ridden_ a train before.)

James tries to lean up against the pole without leaning against too many other people’s hands, attempting to take some of the strain off his bitterly resentful knees and feet with extremely limited success. 

It’s not that he isn’t used to standing on the T, he does it all the time - it’s not even his longest ride, maybe twenty minutes at best - but it seems only fair that, for this one time when every second of being on his feet is The Worst Second, he should have earned the right to be one of those people with their feet and knees at ease in one of the bus seats.

They hit the next stop, and he watches, hawk-like, for people to move from their places to exit the train. No one leaves their seat. 

At this point they’re just mocking him. He chokes out a snort of laughter.

“Hey, you okay?” Tony’d been saying something he hadn’t caught. The kid’s shoved up next to him, his hand on the bar right below James’, so it should have been hard to miss. “James?”

“Yeah?” James says, as two other guys - with seats, James notes with no small amount of bitterness - turn around, recognizing their names. 

“Sorry, sorry, I was - talking to him -” Tony starts to say to the staring men, between giggles, and then James’s laughing so hard he’s practically falling over. 

“God -” James chokes out “God, I just want to sit,”

“Then sit.” Tony says, as if it’s the obvious thing. 

“You seein seats I’m not seeing?” 

Tony points at his pile of suitcases. “Plenty of seats. Hell, you carried that one, you’ve certainly earned the right to sit on it. It shall be the throne of James - no, can’t call you James, too many James’s, can’t be Rhodes cause it sounds like roads, and then we’d get all mixed up,”

“How many rooads must a man walk down -” James warbles, because the pun seems hysterical at the time, and indeed, Tony starts giggling.

Once he gets his laughter under control, Tony points to the suitcase again and says, “Rhodey! The throne of Rhodey. I have declared it so.” He waves his hands in a grand gesture that involves taking his hand off the bar, just as the train lurches, and James has to catch his arm again to stop him knocking over his own luggage. 

“Not doing so hot at the whole ‘declaring’ business. Maybe don’t go into that. ” James notes, and they both start cackling as James collapses onto the suitcase. 

He then proceeds to nearly tip over on the suitcase, which is of course even funnier, and the two of them are laughing in the middle of the dead silent car as Rhodey pulls the suitcase upright and gets his feet under him so he can actually sit without falling over. He manages to grab the pole before the train lurches again, and stays upright - ish - even as Tony doubles over and continues to laugh, nearly falling with the lurch of the train. 

“See. See, see,” Tony says, slumping down onto another suitcase. “This is what a kid like me needs all this - this stuff - this shit for anyway.” 

“Yeah, glad you got all the extra crap for my emergency seating. My knees are really thanking you.” James says. “‘Course, they’d be thanking you more if I hadn’t already lugged this shit up and down two flights of stairs -”

Tony kicks him in the shins - or tries to, and nearly hits another passenger. “Hey, you’re the one who just started grabbing my stuff, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, sue me. No, wait, don’t, definitely do not do that.” James says, and Tony’s just about pissing himself with laughter. 

They don’t stop laughing until the train stops, even though Rhodey has an elbow in his face and Tony’s about half a centimeter from another passenger’s backside the whole way, and they’re still managing to giggle even as they haul the suitcases to the top of the stairs at Kendall station, where they’re immediately deluged by rain. 

“Yeah?!” Tony shouts at the totally dark sky. “Well fuck you too, Thor!” 

And Rhodey’s laughing, and Tony’s laughing, and they’re both doubled over surrounded by this ridiculous, soaking pile of luggage, as streams of people come up the stairs past them, cars running by splashing the sidewalk in the dark and they just can’t stop laughing. Rhodey’s lungs are burning but he keeps laughing and laughing as rain runs off his duffelbag and he leans over on Tony’s suitcase, handlebar pressed into his wheezing chest.

“What dorm are you in?” He finally shouts over the rain, and Tony fidgets uncomfortably. “Oh, stupid question, you’re living off campus, am I right? Where do you live?”

“It’s fine --- ‘ll get the --- self.” Tony is mumbling and can barely be heard over the storm. “It’s over there.” He says, jabbing a finger in the opposite direction of MIT. 

“You’ve never actually walked there yourself, have you? You got any idea how to get there?”

“You think I can’t figure out street intersections? I do go to MIT, you know.” Tony says, with a raised eyebrow.

James Rhodes is _so close_ to getting back to his dorm, a place that is wonderfully, mercifully, dry.

“Look.” He says. “I’ve got a suite with some friends in BC, you wanna crash on a couch instead of in some gutter you’ll end up sleeping in when your rich ass gets lost, I’ll let you in, you can figure out your place in the morning when it’s not fucking raining, man. But you wanna go hunting street signs in a storm, you be my guest, alright? Just make up your mind quick so we can get out of here.”

“Just can’t let me go, can you, Rhodey?”

“Yeah, you’re a real catch, Mr. Tony Stark.” James says, and reaches out to push Tony’s head over, ruffling his hair as they start to walk toward MIT. “You look like a wet rat.”

“But a roguishly handsome wet rat, right?”

“You go ahead and tell yourself that.” He says with a snort.

“I’ll have you know I’m wet rat _chic_. I am the envy of every wet rat out on the town.”

“What,” Rhodey asks, between laughs, “you get down in the sewers, work the wet rat fashion scene?”

“What else do you do on a Friday night?” Tony says, as uprightly as he can manage, and then bursts out into giggles. 

They haul ass across an intersection, still laughing, and Tony continues on the other side “They’ve got - they’ve got little wet rat runways, of old - of old bricks.”

“And - and lights - and suits -” Rhodey says, basically choking with laughter.

“I bet I could - could make rat suits. Could - “ Tony says, as they shove through the doors and stumble into one of the academic buildings to get out of the rain. “Could get into one of the bio labs - dress all the rats up -”

“He’s joking, he’s definitely -” Rhodey says to the confused looking student walking past them, barely choking out the words from laughing. “Definitely joking -”

“Not joking! Entirely serious!” Tony shouts down the hall at the student’s retreating backs, and guffaws the whole way to the end of the hall and out the door, back into the rain. 

“God” Tony says, as they’re still walking through the rain to BC, down the last stretch of road, “Is your dorm in the ass end of nowhere or what?”

“Hey, I don’t have to let you in.”

“I’ll charm my way in. You think the girl at the desk is going to resist this face?” Tony does his best attempt at a pout, though the puppy-dog-eyes are a little ridiculous with the dumb wet-rat hair dangling in his face.

Rhodey laughs.

“You mock me! Hey, I charmed you into taking me home, didn’t I?”

“We aren’t home yet, there’s still plenty of time to kick you to the curb.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t. You’d feel bad, and then I’d throw rocks at your window until you came and got me.”

“Do you have any idea which of these dorms is Burton-Connor.”

“I’d figure it out!”

“Yeah, you start throwin’ rocks at Jacqui’s window, she’s gonna kick your ass, and I’m not getting in her way.”

“Understood. Do not piss off Jacqui.”

“Actually,” James adds, “I don’t know if anyone else is back yet.”

“You’ve got the suite to yourself?” Tony says, eyes wide. “Time to party!”

“I am not getting a minor drunk.”

“Rhodey. Rhodey. Rhodey.” Tony says, waving a finger, “You’re a minor.”

“I’m not getting a kid drunk.” He amends. “And the suite will kick my ass if I let their shit get messed up while they’re gone.”

“I don’t know, I think you could take them.”

“And what? You’re basing this on my ability to haul your luggage?”

“Don’t underestimate the use of a suitcase as a deadly weapon, man, one of these guys nearly fell out of the luggage bin on the plane and killed me.”

“You sure it didn’t rattle your brains a little?”

“Rattle my brains? Rhodey, you may not know it, but I was always this charming!” Tony insists, and they’re both laughing as Rhodey opens the door to BC and swipes them in. The guy at the desk - and it is a guy, Rhodey notes with some amusement, shoots them a sideways look, as they’re laughing and staggering with a truly ridiculous amount of luggage. 

“We’re not - we’re not actually drunk - just - really tired.” Rhodes says. 

“Super drunk.” Tony insists.

“He’s - my guest - Tony, show him your ID.”

“ID? Oh yeah, I have that somewhere.”

“Oh god,” And Rhodey leans back against the wall and laughs and laughs and laughs until Tony finally digs out an ID from the front pouch of one of his suitcases. The guy goggles at it for a solid thirty seconds before handing it back, at which point Rhodey drags Tony to the elevator before he can shoot off another smart remark. 

Fitting Tony’s suitcases in the elevator would seem challenging if not compared to shoving them into a crowded car on the T - they haul them out at the top and just leave them in the lobby before stumbling down the hall to the suite, and finally, finally, James is home. 

He feels tension draining out of him as soon as he drops his duffel inside of the door. “Couch is over there-” James points at the couch - straight in front of the door, which Tony collapses onto unceremoniously and immediately. “We got - we got water, and - whatever else people left here to rot over winter break. Rice. We probably got rice.” He opens a cupboard and waves around a bag of rice.

“Well, now we’re set. We’ve got uncooked rice.”

“You’ve never cooked a pot of rice in your life, don’t start with me Mr - Mr. Tony Stark. Stark. The Starkster.” He’s giggling, but so, so tired, and his bed, very suddenly, seems very, very far away, the hallway between them seeming like a whole ‘nother trek, and the couch is very soft, and has pillows, so, it’s not practically very different. He flops onto it next to Tony.

“Hey, I was promised a couch! My couch!”

“My suite, so move your ass.”

“Don’t you have an actual bed, or something?”

“Mggh.”

“Ah, I see you’re resorting to the caveman defense.”

“Man, I am” Rhodey yawns. “Going to be so happy to kick your punk ass out of here” He yawns again, “in the morning,”

“No you’re not.” Tony says, jabbing at him with his foot.

“Shoulda just” Rhodey yawns “Left you wandering the streets of Boston. Left you on the T.”

“Wouldn’t have had as much” Tony yawns. “Fun.”

Rhodey yawns. 

(Jacqui finds them asleep on the couch when she gets back in the morning.)

**Author's Note:**

> Things I have accounted for in this fic: the fact that, pre-9/11, you wouldn't normally have security screening to get to your gate in US airports.
> 
> Things I have not accounted for: any change in the Boston public transit system between Rhodey's attendance at MIT and 2016. So all of the information on getting from MIT to the airport is accurate from my experience this year, should you be needing guidance. Alewife, not Ashmont!
> 
> This fic is inspired by my own experience with a) a really exhausting adventure getting to Boston involving cancelled and missed flights (but no actual problems with staff or security, thank goodness) and arriving in Boston in the rain (but, fortunately, having a smooth train ride where I could sit) and b) what got me started writing this, which was spending several hours sitting on luggage between cars on packed German trains. Note, when travelling in Southern Germany, note when the Catholic holidays are, and don't travel on those days.
> 
> Many thanks to my friend Jacqui, actual former resident of Burton-Conner and also actual goddess.


End file.
